The War Inside
by chaoticelegance
Summary: Scott's pack is forced to face desperate measures when it is revealed that Stiles is possessed by the Nogitsune. Their personal issues seem to be the least of their worries, when they find themselves fighting a losing battle. And with all this chaos engulfing Beacon Hills, they must race against time to save not only Stiles, but themselves. Based on 3b. Multiple Pairings.
1. 1a: Infestation

**The War Inside**

Chapter 1a

"Infestation"

* * *

"_I wanna hide the truth, I wanna shelter you._

_But with the beast inside,_

_There's nowhere we can hide._"

Imagine Dragons _Demons_

* * *

There was something different about _him_. Maybe it was his hands. The way they coiled around the edge of the metal lab table, gripping until his knuckles grew white. His finger nails gnawed and raw. Maybe it was his chest. The way it rose and fell more so in trembles, his body seeming to rattle like the end of a snakes tail. Maybe it was his eyes, the way they flickered open, glazed over and empty, as though he was hidden inside himself. Or maybe it was his lack of identity, when he finally shot up, a deafening scream escaping from his mouth, and the veins in his neck growing more visible the longer he held it. It was undeniable. There was some thing different about _Stiles Stilinski_. Something terribly wrong that none of his friends and family could quite come to terms with. Something that he himself had yet to even understand.

Stiles Stilinski, was_ possessed_.

It had taken awhile for his friends to figure out. He was _Stiles_ after all. Dorky, hyperactive, sarcastic, lanky—saw his only form of a weapon in a wooden baseball bat—_Stiles_. He had been the last person anyone would have guessed to be chosen as host to a dark kitsune spirit. Therefore he had been over looked. So much so, that everyone had failed to realize that he was the only one unmarked. The only one who had been most affected from being resurrected. The only one who had failed to close the door in his mind. The only one left with enough vulnerability for a dark spirit to creep into his mind, and slowly take over. They had missed all signs, and now it was seeming to be a bit too close to too late.

"Stiles," Sheriff Stilinski pushed himself quickly off of the counter he leaned against, making his way towards his screaming son. Deaton's hand pressed against his chest, stopping him in his path. "He needs me. I need to let him know he's awake."

Deaton gave a silent shake of the head before speaking. "I'm afraid this is not a night terror Sheriff. He is only reacting to the sudden rush of pain from the poison i've injected in his neck."

"Pain? What pain? You said he would be okay!" Sheriff Stilinski roughly pushed Deaton's hand off of his chest, shoving a shaking finger in his emotionless face.

Scott took a step forward, placing a damp hand on the Sheriff's shoulder, droplets of water falling from his hair. Sheriff Stilinski whipped around. His sudden anger melted away as he stared at the 3 teens in front of him. Scott, Kira, and Lydia. Scott looked like an injured puppy. His hair sticking to the water on his forehead, hands trembling on the wound in the center of his abdomen that was slowly healing, his face pleading for Sheriff Stilinski to calm down. Kira stood, eyes wide as she held an ice pack to her head, where a bruise was forming. And Lydia, the banshee, had her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes boring into Sheriff Stilinski. She was trying to stay calm, but he could see her body shake as she took in a breath of anticipation, her throat muscles tightening as she swallowed down her nerves. He had scared them, which only scared himself. They didn't deserve any more stress that night. Especially not from him. Not when his son was the reason for all of their pain and struggle that night.

"Sorry," he sighed. "But that's what you said." he turned back to face Deaton. He could hear a quiet release of breath behind him as the teens calmed.

"No, I said he would not feel much pain while being injected, I never said anything about after. I poisoned the spirit, not Stiles. At the time of injection your son was not in control of his body, something else had taken his place. Therefore it was not possible for him to feel the pain of the chemicals i've placed in his bloodstream. Now that the spirit is poisoned, Stiles has regained control. He is feeling everything the poison entails, but it will only last for a few more seconds." Deaton assured, turning away from Mr. Stilinski to watch as the young boy's screams began to grow quiet. "You see? He just had to wait it out."

Sheriff Stilinski's shoulders relaxed as he released a breath he wasn't even aware he'd been holding and relief washed over him. "He's okay?"

"For now" Deaton gave a short nod, glancing back at Sheriff Stilinski.

Stiles, now in a sitting position, stared at the walls before him. Chapped lips agape, as silence escaped him. His eyes brimmed with the tears created from the pain he'd only minutes ago felt all over. He wasn't sure of where he was. He didn't know how or when he'd ended up on the cool metal lab table. All he knew was that, a moment ago, his skin had felt as though it had been lit on fire. He was almost sure he'd been burned from the back of his neck to just below his left shoulder blade. Everything ached. His throat was sore and dry from all the screaming he'd just done, and he had never felt as weak as he currently did.

He had no clue of the events that had occurred over his lost time. It was as if he'd been in a coma, completely oblivious to the world outside of his own head. Nonetheless he knew something was wrong. For days now, he'd been trapped inside his own body. Lost in the darkness of his own mind. It had felt as though somebody was wearing him as a costume. His skin no longer his own. His thoughts, no longer private. One body, shared.

The thought sent a shiver through his spine, and his neck twitched just as his thoughts were interrupted by a hand clasping his own. He flinched at the contact, the glaze over his eyes dissipating as he snapped back into reality. Blinking twice, he lifted his eyes to the person in front of him.

"Dad?" His voice came out no more than a struggled rasp. His voice, weak from nearly tearing a vocal chord with his pain inflicted screams.

His dad said nothing. He only pulled Stiles into a tight hug, slapping his hand around his sons shoulders and instantly causing Stiles to grunt out in pain. Sheriff Stilinski lifted his hands out of instinct, pulling out of the hug with his hands up. "What? What is it? What hurts?" His voice filled with concern as he examined his sons pained expression. His friends tensed as the sight.

"My neck.." His hand rose from off of the metal table, fingers feeling stiff from how hard he's been holding on. "It feels like I've been burnt." He barely placed his fingers on his neck before hissing in pain. "Ah, yeah. There's something wrong."

"Deaton?" Scott's voice rang throughout the room, looking to his boss for an answer.

Stiles froze in his position, hand on his neck and eyes hesitantly lifting from the ground to Scott, as he realized there were other people in the room.

Scott, feeling eyes on him, flicked his own over to Stiles. His eyebrows lifted slightly, not prepared for this moment. The last time Stiles had been awake, he'd almost killed him. He may have been his best friend, his brother, but it was hard for him not to feel different towards him. Hesitant, even. He'd been fooled once by the trickster spirit that inhabited his best friends body. He wanted to be sure that this time, that wouldn't be the case. Still, he cleared his throat, hearing Stiles' heart rate begin to pick up speed, and gave him a closed lipped smile. It was weak, but apparently enough to push back down Stiles' growing anxiety.

Scott could hear Stiles' heart rate begin to slow back to normal pace, and with that he broke their gaze, bringing his attention back towards Deaton. Stiles however, looked back at the ground. Scott had given him a smile, assuring him that every thing would be fine, even though Stiles knew it wouldn't be. Although he appreciated his friend's attempt to keep him calm, he still felt a sickening feeling as though something terrible had happened between the two. A feeling that if they didn't figure out a plan, terrible things would continue to happen. Shaking his head, he pushed those thoughts down and looked back up, craning his neck to listen to what Deaton had to say.

"Lift your shirt for me please," Deaton walked towards Stiles, pulling gloves on.

Stiles frowned, letting his hand drop back down. "What? _Here_?" He glanced around the room, specifically at Lydia. His disorientation not strong enough to make him forget the fact that he was being asked to get partially naked in front of the girl he'd been in love with since the third grade.

Deaton followed Stiles' gaze. When seeing the young boys focus was on Lydia, he stepped in front of his view, arms crossed. "It will only be for a moment. I just need to see some thing."

Stiles was forced to face Deaton's demanding face, sucking in a sharp breath as nerves washed over him. "Yeah, Uh, okay." He nodded, swallowing.

It wasn't as though he'd never taken his shirt off in front of half the people in the room. Aside from Kira, he was pretty sure everyone in the room had practically seen him naked before. Scott and he had known each other since the bathtub ages, His dad was his _dad_, and Deaton and Lydia had seen him changing that night of the ritual when he'd ripped off his soaked shirt to replace it with a dry t-shirt and flannel. So, it should not have made him as sick to his stomach with nerves as it was, but somehow he still found his hands shaking as he reached for the collar of his shirt. He let the darkness engulf him, taking longer than usual to pull the shirt over his head, feeling safe hidden behind the fabric. However, he knew he couldn't hide forever, and so after a few unnecessary extra minutes he took to get it over his head, he pulled the shirt completely off, crumpling it into a ball to give his hands something to do.

He shivered slightly as the coolness of the air in the room bit at his skin, and he made sure to keep his eyes locked on his hands. "So," he began, chewing the inside of his cheek. "What is it?"

He felt Deaton's fingers brush against the skin on his neck, and he bit back the urge to jerk away in pain. He was doing pretty well. That was, until Deaton's fingers pressed against his left shoulder blade and the pain became too unbearable.

"WHA—_Okay_!" He yelped, sliding quickly off the lab table. He stumbled, the use of his legs almost feeling foreign, before steadying himself. "That's enough pain for Stiles. Yup." He breathed.

"That's quite alright, I was finished." Deaton informed pulling off his gloves and tossing them into the trash can.

Everyone watched him carefully, awaiting to be informed on what exactly was wrong with Stiles.

"It's called a Lichtenberg figure," Deaton stated. "They usually appear when—" He was interrupted.

"—one is stuck by lightening." Lydia completed, speaking up for the first time since she'd arrived. Even now, when she spoke, it was more so as though she was thinking aloud, rather than addressing the room of people. When silence greeted her comment, she blinked, breaking from the trance she had been in. "Sorry, I just," her eyes landed on Stiles for a brief moment, and then she bit her lip and looked away. "I knew what they were." It was like watching a deer in headlights.

"No, don't apologize, you're correct." Deaton gave her a nod of recognition. Lydia returned the gesture with a weak smile, but it didn't take long for her to separate herself from the rest of the group, returning to the trance she'd been in.

Stiles, once more reminded of her appearance, struggled to pull his shirt back on. It took him a little longer than usual, but he finally got it back over himself, and he let out an irritated huff as it fell over his abdomen. He caught Lydia's gaze on him from his peripheral vision, but chose to try and ignore it, and focus on the conversation.

"Well, what does that mean? Cause last time I checked, I haven't been struck by lightening." Stiles pointed to himself.

"I'm not sure. The fact that they're appearing on you after a shot of wolf-lichen is both significant and strange." Deaton squinted his eyes in thought.

"A shot of," Stiles paused, frowning. "A shot of _what_? Wolf-lichen? Why would you give me a shot of wolf-lichen? I'm not even a wolf."

Everyone in the room shared silent looks, and it didn't take long for Stiles to catch on. "Guys!?"

Scott was the first one to speak. "Stiles," he tried and then shook his head, realizing he didn't even know how to explain it. How do you tell your best friend that they're possessed? That for the past few days their body was taken over by a dark spirit? And that in the midst of said possession, he nearly killed Coach, The entire police department, Kira, and Scott himself. how? Answer: he couldn't.

Deaton gave Scott as much time to speak as available, before deciding he would have to be the bearer of bad news. Placing a hand on Scott's shoulder, he looked towards a very lost Stiles.

Stiles could sense it. Something was wrong with him. He knew he was right. He knew that they were about to tell him something terrible. Some thing that would change everything. He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. "_What_?"

"Stiles, The night you, Allison, and Scott sacrificed yourselves to save your parents, I warned you that their would be a darkness around your heart." Deaton reminded. "That, in a sense your mind should be treated as an open door, very vulnerable to the evils that exist on the other side." Stiles could feel his breaths become short. "I believe, that somehow, whilst your mind was ajar, a dark spirit has managed to infest your mind."

Stiles parted his lips to say something, but nothing came out. For a moment, he stood frozen. His eyes darting back and forth as he tried to let what Deaton had just said sink in. "Are you meaning to tell me," Stiles' voice cracked. "That I've been possessed by a dark spirit?" Stiles wasn't stupid. He knew that was exactly what Deaton had said. He understood completely that he was just informed that he was in fact possessed. And even though it brought sense to everything that had been going on-the blackouts, nightmares, sleep walking, panic attacks-he still found it hard to swallow. Him? _Possessed_? You'd have to be a pretty stupid demon to want to possess the only human with no supernatural qualities as a host.

"It's called a dark kitsune," Now it was Kira's turn to speak. "An evil fox spirit." She lowered the ice pack from her head, revealing the bruise. "Japanese legend call it Void or more commonly, a Nogitsune. They draw power from pain and tragedy, strife and chaos." Her hands moved as her speech flowed, almost elegant. "I read that dark kitsune's usually have no moral sense of good or evil, so if a Nogitsune is offended, it will react badly." she nodded towards Stiles. "I'm assuming the Nogitsune that's possessed you, is highly offended." she twisted her lips.

"Yes, exactly. Thank you, Kira." Deaton eyed her, surprised at the amount of information she had brought to the table. She'd done half the job.

Stiles' world grew blurry, his chest tightening. This was all too much. Stuff like this wasn't supposed to happen to him. He was the normal one. Or at least normal in terms of the chessboard. He had thought the door in his mind had been closed. He had finally been able to read again, and he was actually sleeping a bit better. Well, not really. But he'd managed to get at least an hour last time he'd slept, which was an improvement in his eyes.

"Wait, how are we so sure it's me?" He attempted to offer another option, "I was just at the hospital the other day. I got an MRI. They were looking for frontotemporal dementia. I have all the symptoms that would explain everything. I mean, that's got to count for something, right? What if I'm not possessed just sick?" That was a pretty good argument if he'd said so himself. However, judging by the looks he'd received, he knew he was wrong.

"I would say that's a very valid point Stiles," Deaton ran a hand over his bald head. "Though I'm afraid we are no longer _assuming_ you are possessed. We now _know_, you are."

Stiles' eyebrows furrowed, but as he watched Deaton subtly cock his head in the direction of his friends, it all clicked into place.

Scott's hesitance towards him when they'd first made eye contact. The wound in his abdomen, framed by the large hole in his shirt, as if someone had stabbed him. Kira's bruise, and the way she'd tried to keep slightly behind Scott when she had addressed Stiles. As if she wanted to keep a barrier between her and Stiles. Like a fence that was meant to separate a baby lamb from a lion. It didn't take Stiles long after Deaton's hint, for him to realize in horror what he'd meant when he'd said they knew he was possessed. They _knew_ because he was the one who had done this to his friends. His hands were those that had created the bloody wounds and forming bruises on both Scott and Kira. The thought of it was enough to make him feel sick. His expression transitioned from one of confusion, to guilt and shock.

"_Oh my god_, what have I done?" He whispered. Just like that, the bridge of his nose began to burn as his felt the tears traveling through his face up to his eyes. "I almost killed you, didn't I?" He clasped a hand over his mouth. When Scott didn't answer right away, Stiles' hand dropped. "Oh my_ god_!" He shouted, squeezing his eyes shut as he bent over, placing his hands on his knees.

"Stiles," Scott took a step towards his friend. "It's okay, it wasn't you." He ducked his head in attempt to see Stiles' face. "And, look, I'm already healing." Scott lifted his shirt ever so slightly, to reveal the wound which was closing up. "See?"

Stiles stood up straight, his eyes watery. "Scott, I almost _killed_ you." He spoke through gritted teeth. "Alright? That's far from okay. _Nothing_ is okay."

"We're going to fix this. I told you I would." Scott tried to calm him, but Stiles was way past the point of being calmed. No amount of counting fingers or kissing Lydia would stop the attack he knew was coming. Contrast to popular belief, he was not strong. At least not strong enough to handle the fact that he'd almost killed his best friend.

Stiles shook his head, stepping backwards. "Wait a minute, wait a minute!" He blinked wildly. His palms were growing clammy and he could feel his throat beginning to close up. A panic attack was rising, and it was taking everything in him not to let it out. "You said you shot me with wolf-lichen, I mean what, is that like, some sort of.. Japanese form of an exorcism?" He spoke quickly, running his fingers through his hair. "What's going to happen now? What.." he trailed off on his words.

"Stiles, you'll be fine. At least if we have anything to do about it, which we do." Deaton bowed his head. "I shot you with wolf-lichen to poison the Nogitsune. It is not an exorcism but, it has given you back control of your body for the time being."

"For the time being? So, what? You're saying this thing is still inside of me?" Stiles asked in disbelief.

"Technically yes, but it has no idea of how to take back control. It's back to stage 1 of possession. Infestation." Deaton walked over to one of the cabinets above the sink, pulling out multiple pill bottles. "This is the stage where the spirit will try to make itself known to you. Usually this is done through unexplained moved objects, tapping on the walls, etc." Deaton placed all the pills on the table. "With you, this stage of Infestation will be different. Seeing as the spirit is no longer outside of you trying to possess. It's already found it's way in. With the poison, it's only lost in the depths of your mind. So it will make itself known through giving you hallucinations, making you hear voices, that sort of thing." He eyed the lettering that lined the pill bottles, examining them.

"So what, we just wait it out until it gets strong enough again to possess me, and then we're right back to me attempting to kill people?" Stiles ran a hand over his face, his skin calloused and rough. His panic attack was sitting in the pit of his stomach just waiting to be freed at any moment.

"No. We find a way to remove the dark spirit before that happens." Deaton placed some of the bottles back in the cabinet, 3 remained.

"And how do you propose we do that?" Sheriff Stilinski asked, squeezing the brim of his nose. He looked tired. The stress and confusion of the events that were occurring, wearing down on him.

"For starters, we have to make sure Stiles stays awake, he's much more vulnerable when he sleeps. This is how the spirit sped the possession process up before. Through his dreams." Deaton addressed Sheriff, handing him the pill bottles.

"That shouldn't be a problem. I haven't slept in weeks." Stiles sighed.

"Yes, well, just in case, these should do the trick." Deaton motioned to the pill bottles in Sheriff's hands. Sheriff Stilinski read each label carefully.

"I've never heard of these." Sheriff Stilinski lowered one eyebrow whilst lifting the other.

"That's because they're not legal." Deaton pointed out.

"You're giving my son illicit drugs?" The sheriff tilted his head, wiggling the bottle.

"They're only meant to keep him awake for abnormal periods of time. One pill should keep him up for about 2 days straight. When he gets tired, he takes another. And so forth." Deaton pressed his hands onto the lab table. "It will only be for a few days while we figure out a plan to remove the dark spirit. We only have a limited amount of time before the spirit reaches it's full strength again. So we can't take any chances for the time we have."

"Limited? How long are you talking here?" Stiles felt a lump form in his throat.

"It's hard to predict really. It all depends on your Lichtenberg figure. When it starts to fade the spirit will return." Deaton nodded.

"And what happens if it does?" Stiles questioned, his curiosity still in him.

Deaton paused, not saying anything as he took a moment to look back at Sheriff Stilinski and his friends. He then put on a smile. "We won't need to worry about that. It won't happen."

Stiles slit his eyes at Deaton. He was keeping something from them. He'd been hesitant when answering that question. It gave Stiles an uneasy feeling. Something told him that if the spirit returned there would be no "fixing" it that time around. Only "eliminating the problem".

Despite his thoughts, he played along, pursing his lips and asking no further questions.

"Okay, I think that's all I can do for you right now. If we want to find a way to remove the spirit, I've got to get to work. I will notify you all if I come across anything important." Deaton shoved his hands in his pant pockets.

Everyone stood for a moment, unsure of when to move, or what to say in closing. Sheriff Stilinski was still re-reading the bottles. Scott, as always took the initiative, grabbing his leather jacket from off the counter and sliding it on, wincing slightly.

"Thank you Deaton." He spoke quietly, as if only Deaton was meant to hear it. The way Scott had said those words, told Stiles it wasn't just a thank you for the information, but for something more than that. Something that had must of occurred when Stiles had not been in control of his body.

He watched as Scott made his way towards him and Stiles almost flinched, too ashamed to look at his friend. He couldn't look down though, for his eyes would only land on the red blood where Scott's wound had once been. He had no choice but to face him. He wished he could have still been oblivious. Still protected by the veil of unknown.

"Hey," Scott placed his hand on the side of Stiles' face. "Listen, don't.. don't worry about," he glanced down at the place his wound once was. "this." he looked back up. "Honestly. I know it wasn't you. You had no control over it."

"Yeah? What about her?" Stiles looked towards Kira, who was waiting by the door, jacket thrown over her arm and helmet in her hand. She was prodding at her bruise lightly with her fingers.

"Same thing goes. Besides, she wasn't too surprised. She didn't think you liked her to begin with." Scott tried to lighten the mood, but Stiles only continued to stare at him with tear filled eyes.

Scott's face fell. "We'll get though this, Stiles. We're _brothers_, remember?"

Stiles tightened his jaw then to fight the tears from falling. "Yeah," he wiped under his nose with the back of his hand swiftly. "_Brothers._"

Scott smiled then, wrapping his arms around Stiles and then pulling back. "I'll see you tomorrow. Mom said I could take off school to be with you while we figure all this stuff out."

Stiles gave a half-hearted thumbs up, watching as Scott disappeared with Kira. He sighed, his head dropping. He heard his dad begin to ask Deaton a few more quick questions about the pills, and he rolled his eyes, prepared to stop him when a pair of champagne colored heels came into his view.

_Lydia_. He thought she'd been the first one out.

He lifted his head to look at her, eyes filled with wonder. With everything that had been going on, he hadn't gotten a chance to really look at her. In fact he pretty much avoided making uncomfortable eye contact with her the entire time. But now that he saw her, he couldn't look away. The panic itching under his skin, fading. She looked as though she'd been crying, her eyes red. The charcoal makeup smeared a bit beneath her lower lid. Her hair was up in a bun, a braid holding it together. It looked a bit messy, as though she'd forgotten it was in a bun and had tried to run her fingers through it. She hadn't slept. He knew that much. Possibly missed a meal or two as well. To be frank, she looked like absolute shit. Yet, he still found the beauty in her fragile state. She looked at him with her bright hazel eyes, as if she wanted to say something, but she couldn't get it out.

"Lydia?" The moment he said her name it was as if he'd surprised her. She jumped backwards, and his arms instinctively reached forward, steadying her. "_Whoa_.." he mumbled. "You okay?"

Lydia squeezed her eyes shut, her hands resting on his forearms as he helped her to stand straight. "Yeah, fine." she whispered, and then her eyes fluttered open, staring up at him. "My ears have just been... _sensitive_, lately." her speech slowed as their eyes locked and she found her mouth closing. Stiles searched her eyes, confused. She looked as though she was just realizing he was in front of her. She suddenly removed her hands from his forearm, wrapping them around herself. "Um," she tucked her lips in. "Sorry."

Stiles clicked his tongue, knocking his right fist gently against his left palm. "No, don't worry about it." He breathed in deeply. "Just glad you're _fine_." He gave her a look to notify her that he had called her bluff. As usual. For as long as they'd become friends, Stiles was always the one that could tell when Lydia was hiding something. Lydia looked away sheepishly, and for a moment Stiles could see a flicker of pain flash across her face, before she cleared her throat, looking back to him. When she realized he was studying her she tilted her chin up.

"I," she rubbed her hand up and down her arm. "I just wanted to tell you that,..._ I'm here_, if you need me." she finally said. She looked uncomfortable saying those words. Lydia was never one to show emotion towards anyone. She was very keen on keeping her walls up, ever since Jackson. Stiles couldn't hide his shock. He saw how panicked she looked after the words left her mouth, her eyes looking anywhere but him. Like she was afraid he was going to laugh at her for being so sincere. He settled, his eyes tracing her face.

"..._Thanks_, Lydia." He said softly. She stopped looking around, as brown met hazel once again. After a few moments of comfortable silence between the two, Lydia finally gave him a weak smile, nodding.

"Of course," she began to fumble with the locket around her neck. The two stared at each other, a comfortable silence surrounding them. "Well, I should probably get going. Don't want my mom to worry..." She turned towards the door.

"Right, yeah." Stiles called after her. He knew that there was stuff left unsaid, but he figured it could wait. They had bigger issues at hand than the unspoken emotions between the them.

She stopped in her tracks, turning on her heel to face him. "Stiles,—" she stopped as she remembered that Deaton and Sheriff Stilinski were still in the room. She had now gained their attention as well as Stiles', who was already meeting her from across the room.

"Yeah?" He asked expectantly.

Lydia's eyes were focused behind him, and he knew she was worried about his dad and Deaton hearing whatever she was about to say all by seeing the look on her face. When she finally did focus back on him, she placed a hand on his shoulder, balancing herself as she stood on her toes. Stiles stopped breathing, when he felt her breath on his ear. "Stay Awake." was all she said, and then she was already back at the door. The time of her being that close to him seeming much longer than it had been.

Stiles looked after her, watching as she glanced back at him for a final time before exiting the room completely.

His dad was behind him then, tucking the pills in his coat pocket. "Alright, we should head out. Get you _home_..."

Stiles nodded absentmindedly, his mind still thinking about what Lydia said. His dad led the way out, and he followed suit, his head hung low. He felt like a monster. Scared of his own shadow. He was the real life story of _Jekyll&Hyde_, and he never thought in a million years that he would be the one people would have to look after. He was the person who always figured things out. The one who always had a plan B prepared for even the worst times. But as he sat in the passenger seat of his dads car, watching the world whizz by, he realized that he could have never prepared enough for this. The day that his friends looked at him as though he might lunge at them at any given moment, the day his dad could barely look at him without seeming like he was about to cry, the day he saw his reflection, and felt as though a complete stranger was staring back at him. Somewhere along the way, Stiles had lost himself. And now that he was supposedly possessed, he wasn't sure he was ever going to find himself again.

As they arrived in the driveway of his house, he placed his hands over his father's as his dad moved his hand to put it in park. "Dad," he hadn't even known he was going to speak until the words left his mouth. His father stopped, keeping his foot on the brake and not parking the car yet. Stiles' lip trembled almost unnoticeably, "...I can't go in there." He admitted, not daring to look at his father's face.

Fact was, he didn't feel that place was _home_ anymore. Home was where one felt _safe_, and in that moment, he didn't feel anywhere was safe. Not for himself, but for his friends, his family. He didn't know what he was capable of. Hell, he hadn't even known he was a hazard until tonight when he'd woken up expecting to be in a hospital bed, and ended up screaming on a lab table. Now that he knew what was wrong with him, there was no going back. He couldn't take what he knew out of his head. Especially now that it was all he could think about. What he did, who he'd hurt. He was sure there had to be others he'd caused trauma to aside from Scott and Kira. The others most likely hadn't told him to save him the guilt. But it wouldn't have changed anything. He already felt guilty, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Even if Scott did have the power to heal. Even if Kira smiled at Stiles when she'd left Deaton's office. He still felt guilty. He still felt like at any moment, he could lash out and harm someone else. And with the thought of possibly hurting Scott again, or even worse—his dad—and idea came into his head that he couldn't ignore.

"I think I should be put in a psychiatric hospital," Stiles could see his father beginning to protest, and he cut him off before he could. "_Just_ for the weekend! ...Until Deaton finds something, I need to be sure that i'm not going to hurt anyone else." The words flew out of his mouth, desperation dripping from his voice.

"Stiles..." His dad closed his eyes, shaking his head.

"Dad, I almost killed Scott. Okay? _Scott_. My best friend, who I grew up with. Who I consider my brother. Who you consider your second son. I almost _killed_ him. Ended his life. If Deaton hadn't of shown up, he would have been _dead_. His mother would have been planning a funeral, and you would have had to put handcuffs around my wrists, and put me in a cop car. That's if I wasn't killed by werewolves first." He turned in his seat to face his dad, clicking off his seat belt. "I would never in a million years, think of hurting Scott. So the fact that in that moment, no matter how much I care about him, I couldn't control the fact that my hands were the ones stabbing a sword through his stomach..." Stiles couldn't even finish his sentence at the thought of it. "Dad.. next it could be_ you_. It could be Lydia. or Allison. Whether you choose to admit it or not, until Deaton finds some way to get this dark spirit out of me, I am a danger to everyone I've ever cared about. I can't take the chance of what I did to Scott and Kira happening again. I _can't_."

Silence filled the car, the only sound was the humming of the engine and the beeping of the car signaling that the passenger seat belt was off. His dad had yet to look at him and Stiles could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He knew the idea was crazy. That, if the dark spirit were to come out again before the weekend was over, a psychiatric hospital probably wouldn't be able to confine him. But it was the only thing he could think of that seemed logical. So there he was, awaiting his dads answer while he chewed on whatever was left of his thumb nail. A habit he'd picked up a long time ago when he got nervous or anxious.

When his dad finally turned to him, eyes sad as he contemplated what he son had offered, Stiles' heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

"This is really what you want?" His dad seemed to be fighting an inner battle with himself, his hands gripping the wheel.

Stiles hadn't expected that question, but he recovered quickly, nodding. "Yes." It wasn't really what he wanted. Could anyone really want to be put into a place filled with schizophrenics and nurses who shot you with multiple drugs if you so much as talked back to them? Of course not. But he felt he had no other choice. He had to do this. He had to protect his friends and family from himself.

His dad snapped the gear into park, resting his head against the steering wheel and breathing heavily. Stiles knew this had to of been hard for him. The last time they'd been to a psychiatric hospital, they'd dropped off his mother. She had never come back out of that place. At least not alive. Her situation was obviously different, but it still brought the same amount of pain to his father's heart. Stiles twisted his lips, feeling terrible for putting his father through this again. He didn't deserve it. He'd worked so hard to try and raise Stiles all by himself. Never expecting to land in the situation they faced today. Stiles had failed him, not the other way around. And he felt horrible.

"I'm gonna be okay." Stiles forced out. Trying to convince his father, even though he could barely convince himself.

His dad's body shook with each breath he took, and when he sat up again, staring out the windshield, Stiles could see the tear stains glimmering slightly on his cheeks. Stiles' shoulders sank and he slouched back in his seat, his head resting against the window.

"...Okay." His dad finally agreed. His voice was watery, but he tried to cover it up by clearing his throat.

Stiles' eyebrows rose at this. "_Okay_?"

"Yeah.." His dad wiped his mouth. "I'll take you." The worry lines creased in his forehead. "Do you want me to call Scott?"

"No," Stiles scratched the side of his face. "I don't want any of the others to know, they'll just try and stop me."

"I should be trying to stop you." His dad said numbly.

"No you should be respecting my wishes, which you are. You're doing the right thing dad." Stiles did his best to ease the self doubt he could sense growing inside of his father.

His dad looked at him, and soon after he turned back, his hand hovering over the gear shift, prepared to put the car in reverse. "_Just_ for the weekend."

"72 hours.. _tops_." Stiles confirmed, tapping his fingers against his knee.

With that confirmation, his dad pulled out of their driveway. Stiles leaned his head back against the seat, squeezing his eyes shut and making sure to control his breathing. Truth was, he was already beginning to regret his decision. Fear rising inside of him. But he refused to let his father see that. He had to stick through this. It was the only way to assure everyone's safety. He knew where his father was taking him. It was the only psychiatric hospital left in Beacon Hills after the one his mother had been in was demolished. It was the same hospital that his dad had been at earlier that month to get information on Barrow, who had been a past patient. It was almost strange how well his father knew how to get there. And with each road sign they passed, Stiles grew more unsure of his decision. Fighting the urge to ask his father to turn around and go back to their house. He knew his father wouldn't hesitate to, but he couldn't turn back now.

The car ride was silent and after about half an hour, he finally caught sight of the silhouette of the hospital up ahead. He placed his arms on the dash, resting his chin on top of them. The hospital was practically in the middle of nowhere, hidden from the rest of society. It gave off an ominous feeling, and once the car had slowed to a stop in front of the gates, Stiles almost felt like a kid about to enter a haunted house. His dad put the car in park, ripping his keys out of the ignition. Stiles took this as his cue to get out of the car. He swallowed, trying to get rid of the scratchy feeling he had in his throat, and pushed open the door, stepping out and looking up at the building.

The dim street lamp over head cast a glow over him, and he caught sight of his shadow on the pavement in front of him. It reminded him of why he was there. His dad walked up behind him, and he slowly looked back at him, checking to make sure he was okay. His father gave him a look of approval, which looked forced but nonetheless helpful. Stiles nodded back to him, sighing, and then he took a step forward, prepared to walk through the front gate. Roaring of a motorcycle sounded behind him, stopping him in his tracks. He and his father peered behind them, lifting their hands to block the blinding lights from the bike. The engine shut off, and Stiles cursed to himself at the sight of Scott getting off of his bike.

Scott ran over to them, out of breath and helmet in hand. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because we wanted to avoid something like this." Sheriff Stilinski informed.

"It's only 72 hours." Stiles added on, seeing Scott's confused expression. "How did you even know about this anyways, I thought you went home?"

"After I dropped Kira off I wanted to make sure you both got home okay, when I saw you weren't there, I tracked your scent." Scott eyed the building behind them. "It led me _here_."

"Well, that makes sense." Stiles thought aloud.

"This is the same place Barrow came from,—the guy who had tumor inside him filled with _flies_." Scott felt the need to remind them. "You don't know everything yet." He looked towards Stiles' dad.

"I know enough. Nogitsunes, kitsunes, onis—or _whatever_ they're called," Sheriff Stilinski ran through the list of creatures he'd recently been informed about.

Stiles tilted his head in thought. "Nah, that's actually all surprisingly correct." He looked to his dad, impressed that he'd remembered without the help of the chessboard.

His father didn't hesitate to continue. "Scott, I saw an MRI that looked exactly like my wife's...and that _terrifies_ me." Scott's face relaxed at this, and Stiles looked down, the mention of his mom sending a painful rush through his chest. "And now today I find out that not only is my son possibly suffering from the same disease that killed her, but also that he's being possessed by some dark spirit?" he waved his hand exasperated. "...It wouldn't be too much, to be safe."

Scott understood where Stiles' dad was coming from. With everything his best friend and his dad had been through, it only made sense that all of this would be finally wearing down on them. But he still didn't understand how putting Stiles in a psychiatric hospital was going to help their situation. If anything, it might make matters worse, more difficult. "Why are you putting him in here?" Scott asked.

"_He's_ not," Stiles corrected, causing Scott to whip his head in his direction. "It was my decision."

Scott jerked his head back, clearly not understanding why Stiles would have chosen this. "Stiles, I _can't_ help you if you're in here."

Stiles raised his shoulders, Scott needed to understand that he wasn't thinking of himself. "And I _can't_ hurt you."

Scott looked taken aback at his words, and Stiles watched as his best friend's eyes lowered as he went into thought. "..Look, you heard Deaton, he's getting to work on some ideas, I called Allison, her dads calling people—We're going to find _something_." He was speaking so quickly, Stiles could hear the silent pleading for him to change his mind in Scott's voice. "And if we _can't_..—" Scott tried to think of another option, another reason for Stiles to feel secure in going back home, regardless if they had a plan B or not. But Stiles was already cutting him off, not allowing another word to escape Scott's lips.

"—If you _can't_..." Stiles began, forcing Scott to look up at him. Stiles glanced at his dad, before walking close to Scott, and placing his mouth near his ear so he could whisper. "If you can't then I need you to do something for me, okay?" He watched as Scott didn't respond right away. "Make sure I_ never_ get out."

Scott opened his mouth to argue, shaking his head. However, once Stiles looked in his eyes, begging him not to say another word, he stopped. Stiles backed away from him, standing next to his father again. Scott stood there, wanting to say something, _anything_, but he realized that Stiles was not changing his mind. At least not now. Stiles could see the defeat in Scott's eyes and all he wanted was for everything to just be a dream. He didn't want to be possessed. He didn't want to be standing there prepared to leave all he knew behind for a few nights in a crazy hospital. He didn't want to see the scared faces of his best friend and father. All this pain, all this anger, all this stress, was because of him. The longer he thought about it, the more content he grew with his decision. It would be hard to sit and be forced to do nothing but wait for some news to come on a plan, but he would have to endure it. It was better than sitting at home, staring at the clock and waiting for some vengeful Japanese dark spirit to take control over him again.

Once Scott said nothing more, Stiles gave his dad a nudge, letting him know he was ready. His dad blinked, pursing his lips and then beginning to walk in the direction of the gate. Stiles waited back for a moment, watching as Scott's head fell. Stiles sighed, walking up to him and wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. Scott dropped his helmet, not thinking of the scratches created on the fiberglass as his arms looped around Stiles' back, returning the hug. The two held onto each other, not saying anything. This was their second hug since that day in the hospital, in which all their emotions, all their unspoken words, were said loud and clear without saying anything.

Scott tucked his head in Stiles shoulder, and Stiles closed his eyes, holding on for dear life. Neither of them knew this would be the last time they'd be together, before everything would change. "If you need anything," Scott mumbled. "_Anything_, just yell. I'll hear you." He lifted his face out of Stiles' shoulder, resting his chin atop it instead. Stiles breathed a small laugh at this, pulling out of the hug.

"Will do." Stiles agreed, fumbling with his collar. "I'll see you soon." Even as he spoke the words, he felt doubtful; and when Scott nodded in response, he could see that Scott felt the same. Neither of them were sure of what was to come after Stiles walked through those gates. It left endless possibilities, mostly negative, that they couldn't bare to think of. All they could do was wait.

Stiles walked backwards as far as he could, keeping his eyes locked on Scott, before he had no other choice but to turn around, and follow his dad through the gates, and up the front steps that led to the doors of the hospital. He took one final look back at his best friend, and then turned, disappearing behind the steel doors as security led them inside.

Little did Stiles know, that the moment he stepped foot in Eichen House: Psychiatric Hospital, it was the beginning of the end. The next time Stiles Stilinski would be seen walking through those doors, it would no longer be _Stiles Stilinski_. Only a dark spirit using his body as a puppet, to finish the revenge it had started. Chaos was coming, like a raging fire. And as Stiles and his father said their goodbyes, and the Echo house welcomed him—the first flame was lit. The infestation had begun, and it was only a matter of time, before the spirit took full control once again.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I do not own "Teen Wolf", nor do I profit in this story other than the satisfaction of becoming a better writer. I do not claim to own any of these pre-written characters. All belong to the creator Jeff Davis and various copyright holders!

**A/N: **Hello everyone! So after watching episode 3x20 in Season 3b of "Teen Wolf", along with watching the final 4 episode trailer, I came up with a bunch of ideas and theories of what might happen in the remaining episodes of the season. With these ideas came this fan fiction! I have so much planned for this story, involving relationships, friendships, family dynamics, death, humor, and of course the _CHAOS_ that comes with the Nogitsune story line. This is my first attempt at writing Teen Wolf fan fiction, and although I treat Teen Wolf as my practical second religion, nothing can ever stay 100% true to the show when it comes to fan fiction. So, I do ask that you bare with me in terms of my writing style towards it, along with my ships and ideas when reviewing. I understand everyone has their own opinions, and I'm open to them, but keep in mind we don't all share the same ideas/ships/theories, and that this is my version, so please respect that. That being said, please review! Although this is fan fiction, I am an aspiring writer. Therefore, your feedback is not only appreciated but very helpful to me! I'd love to hear what you guys think! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I can't wait to bring the rest of this story to you. Thank you for reading, and I will see you all again soon!


	2. 1b: Afraid

**The War Inside**

Chapter 1b

"Afraid"

* * *

"_Being me can only mean,_

_being scared to breathe,_

_If you leave me then, I will be afraid of everything_

_That makes me anxious,_

_gives me patience, calms me down_."

Imagine Dragons _Afraid_

* * *

The streets were silent. All residents in Beacon hills paying respect to the night fall. Some were in their respectable beds, getting a good nights rest for the responsibilities that rose along with the sun. Others, were up on the phone, late night talks a common necessity for them to fall asleep. And others, like Scott McCall, were disturbing the peace, with the roaring engine of his bike, as he pulled into his driveway. It was 2:30am to be precise. All houses surrounding Scott's were hidden in the darkness. He had just gotten back from seeing his best friend walk into a psychiatric hospital. And as he ripped off his helmet, breathing heavily, he realized for the first time that he was crying. He'd been so distracted with his thoughts and focusing on getting home that when he dabbed his face with his fingers and felt they were wet, he at first thought it was blood. But it was not. Scott McCall had been crying. Crying for the fact that he was watching his best friend slip away, and he had no idea how to fix it.

Wiping at his face with the sleeve of his jacket, he puffed out his cheeks, releasing a shaky breath. When had things gotten so screwed up? Granted, things hadn't been good for a long time now. Ever since his bite, he couldn't think back to a point he was truly happy and content. However, even through all the horrible baggage that came with being a werewolf, he'd always had Stiles. The only thing that tied him to who he used to be. The only person who he could trust when he could trust no one. He was his Robin. His brother. And now, he wasn't even sure if all those things still held true. He was losing him, and the time everyone had to save him was running out. The thought of that caused Scott to lean forward on his bike, placing his face in his arms. He had promised Stiles he would do something. And he would. He had to. Because that's what they did. They always did something when the other had no other options. Always created a plan B, even when it was sought impossible. Scott took a moment to breathe, blocking out all other senses of the world around him. He knew he probably looked crazy. Leaned over on his bike in the middle of the night, but he didn't care. Not now. Now, he had to breathe. Because Stiles wasn't there to give him his inhaler. Stiles wasn't there to tell him everything would be okay, and that they'd figure it out. Stiles wasn't there to give his shoulders a squeeze and crack a sarcastic joke that would break his tension. Stiles wasn't there. And so Scott had to go at this one on his own. Scott, had to be his own anchor, again.

It took him about 10 more minutes of heavy breathing, to get remotely close to being back to a normal state. Normal as in, no longer heaving due to an incoming panic attack in the middle of his driveway. He slowly lifted his face out of his arms, standing straight on his bike. He closed his eyes, relaxing now that he felt the panic go back down, and then he swung one leg off of his bike, kicking the brake down so it wouldn't tip over due to his absence. It was now 3:10am. He didn't have school tomorrow, but it didn't take away the fact he had business to attend to. What, with his best friend being possessed and all. He rubbed at his eyes, tucking his helmet under his arm and shoving his hands in his pocket for his keys. It had been a long night. After taking so much pain from everyone, getting stabbed, and seeing his best friend walk into the Eichen house, all he wanted to do was go into his house, and collapse on his bed. Shoving his key into the front door lock, he began to twist it until he heard an expected click, before pushing it open. He had gotten only one foot in the door before he found himself whipping around, at the sound of the wood on his front porch creaking.

"_Allison_," he breathed in relief. "What the hell?"

"You didn't answer." she lifted her phone in the air to reveal it had about 13 recent calls to 'Scott'.

Scott found it odd looking at his contact and picture. She'd strangely kept his picture as the one of the day he'd taken her out for her birthday. She'd kissed his cheek and snapped a picture just as he'd begun to laugh. However, his name lacked the heart symbol next to it, that it once did. He must of stared at her phone for a bit too long, because now she was frowning, turning her phone to her face to look at what he was staring at.

"What?" she asked, and then her mouth dropped in realization. "Oh, that, sorry!" the words flew out of her mouth quickly, her thumb running across her screen. "I never got around to changing that," she spoke as if she'd been caught committing a crime. Scott raised his eyebrows, amused. He had to admit he had been a bit surprised at the fact she hadn't changed it, but he didn't understand why she was making such a big deal out of it.

"Allison.." he let go of the door, turning his body around completely, and walking towards her.

"I don't know why I didn't change it, I guess every thing just got so crazy afterwards. I didn't think to," her voice shook as she tried to form her words correctly, and Scott frowned at this. They both knew where they stood in each others lives now, and a contact photo wasn't going to change that.

"_Allison_!" This time he caught her attention. The volume of his voice, clearly catching her off guard. "Stop." He breathed, a very weak smile forming on his face as he closed the gap between them, clasping his hands over her trembling ones. Allison closed her mouth at this, her hands stopping in their place. Her thumb, hovering over his contact.

Her eyes bore into his shirt, as if she was willing herself not to look up at him. Hearing her heart thumping in her chest, Scott sighed, releasing her hands and taking her phone instead. "Here," the light from her phone screen lit his face with a blue hue. "Let me." It didn't take him long to delete the photo from his contact, and replace it with an old photo she'd kept of him. It wasn't nearly as much of a reminder of their romantic past. Just a simple photo of him using his pencil as a mustache, whilst his eyes were crossed. Stiles was photo bombing in the background, his tongue sticking out wildly. He smiled to himself, a brief memory of when times were good between he and his best friend. "There." He handed her phone back to her. "I think that one suits better anyways, don't you?"

Allison looked at the photo for a few minutes, and soon a sad smile took the place of her panicked expression. "Yeah," she nodded, her short hair not failing to bounce on her shoulders as she did. "I always did love that photo of you two."

Scott folded his lips in, a muffled laugh escaping him. "Stiles always knew how to make the photo one for the albums." He scratched the back of his neck, before sliding his hand back into his pocket. "So," He started, suddenly remembering there was a reason Allison had originally come to his house at 3:10am. "..What's up? Why so many calls?"

Allison grew serious then, realizing she'd strayed away from what she'd originally planned. "Right, that." she ran her fingers through her hair. "I, think we have a problem." She said finally and Scott's couldn't help but grimace at this. "What?"

"Sorry, I just really don't know how many more problems I can handle." he admitted, rolling his neck. He had enough on his plate with Issac lying on his death bed and Stiles being possessed. He didn't want to know what would come next.

"Should I wait until tomorrow, after you've gotten some rest? You look tired.." She chewed on her lower lip, the moonlight casting a glow over her.

Scott, as if on cue, yawned. "Yeah, well, you look tired too, and yet you're here." He lifted his chin towards her. "When's the last time you slept some place other than a hospital bench?" He asked, finally noticing that she had dark circles beneath her eyes and a faint scent that told him it wasn't her first day wearing the clothes she was in.

Allison, now self-conscious, pulled at the ends of her sleeves. "I don't know, a few days.." She cast her attention to the ground. "It's just really hard to leave him, you know? I mean, all he has is—"

"Us." Scott finished for her, causing her to lift her eyes to him. "All he has is us. I know." He nodded faintly, and then sucked in a sharp breath. "Look, how about we go inside for a bit? I'll make some coffee, and you can tell me all about this new found problem, and then maybe we can both try and get some sleep? At least an hour or two?"

Allison looked as though she was going to protest, her head already prepared to shake in rejection, but Scott quickly stopped her. "Don't worry, I didn't mean like that. I'll sleep in my moms bed. You can take mine. She works the night shift any ways. She won't be home until later on today."

Allison pondered this, glancing around the quiet neighborhood in contemplation. After what seemed like over a few minutes, she turned back to him. "Yeah, okay. Sounds good."

"Yeah?" Scott asked, making sure that she was actually comfortable by listening in on her heart beat while she answered.

"Yes." Allison gave a firm nod, her heart beat not skipping a beat. Scott jerked his head back, a smile playing on his lips.

"Alright then." When he turned to go back in the house, he held the door open for her to walk inside.

Allison seemed cautious, folding her hands together as she walked past him, under his arm, and into the house. Scott closed the door behind them, trying to ignore the awkward silence between them. The two of them used to be able to sit silence for hours, just doing homework, or holding each other. Now, it was uncomfortable. Neither of them knowing how to end the silence.

Scott dragged his feet across the floor as he made his way across his living room. It had been a long time since he'd felt so exhausted. With everything going on, he couldn't say he was surprised. "Uhm, If you don't mind, I'm just gonna change.." He was already shrugging off his jacket, revealing his blood soaked shirt. He had forgotten Allison had yet to see his wound, seeing as her horrified gasp caught him off guard. He whipped his head around the room, searching for what had startled her. "What, what is it!?" He asked, face twisted with worry. Allison shook her head, reaching to him.

"Scott, you're hurt!" She cried out, lifting his shirt unexpectedly. Scott's mouth opened to say something, but he soon realized he didn't have to as Allison quickly frowned, obviously confused. "Oh, right.." She retreated, her hand releasing his shirt. "Sorry, I forgot, you heal." Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I'm such an idiot."

Scott found it hard to believe himself. Allison was not one to forget little detail. Especially when it came to werewolves. Being able to heal was practically werewolf 101. It was hard to forget. At the same time, Allison had been acting off since she arrived on his front porch. So it wasn't too surprising when she'd made a move that was so out of character. Besides, his shirt was soaked in blood, He could see where her instinct would be to check for a wound, regardless if he could heal.

"It's okay," the words seemed to roll off his tongue naturally. "..Just gave me more reason to want to hurry up and change."

"That's probably a good idea." she nodded, not looking in his eyes.

Scott didn't say anything for a moment, waiting for her to continue. When she didn't, he gave a short nod. "I'll be right back."

"Okay." Allison sat on his couch, clearing her throat and forcing a grin.

Scott didn't allow another moment to pass. He walked calmly out of the room, however the second his foot stepped into the hallway leading to the stairs he broke into a run. He was practically ripping off his clothes, stumbling into his room.

"Really, Scott?" He cursed himself as he threw his bloody clothes into the trash near his computer desk, leaving him only in boxers. "You just had to invite her in, didn't you?" clenching his teeth, he walked over to his closet. "You're ridiculous. If Stiles was here he would slap you upside the head for doing something so stupid." he sighed.

Somewhere in the midst of having a conversation with himself, he'd managed to change into a pair of black sweats and an old t-shirt that used to belong to his dad. If he had been more focused, he would have changed into a different shirt, tossing his fathers into the back of the closet as it has always been. Along with the rest of his dad's stuff that Scott had told his mom he'd put out with trash that day she'd put it all in a bag, when he really didn't. There was no time to focus on wardrobe now though. Now, he had to go back downstairs and listen to whatever problem Allison needed to inform him of at such a late hour.

Something was off. Scott could feel it. Allison was not one to panic. She was a strong girl. Something he'd always appreciated about her. As bad as it sounded, he knew he never had to worry about her. Which, personally to him, was a relief. It was enough worrying about all the other things that came along with being an Alpha. He would have hated to add a girlfriend — now, ex — to the list. Still, that didn't prevent him from the occasional anxiety that would form inside of him when moments like these approached him. Allison may have been one of the toughest out of all of them, but that didn't mean she wasn't still human. She had her vulnerable moments. Moments where her tough exterior was cracked enough to allow you a peek inside to her true inner thoughts and feelings. Scott could sense he was about to witness one of those moments. He also had a strong feeling he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear. But, what else was new?

He made his way down the steps, rounding the corner into the living room once he'd gotten all the way down. Allison's head shot up upon his arrival, and he couldn't ignore the flash of pain that spread across her face. The way her lips curled slightly, the worry lines in her forehead creasing as she knit her eyebrows together. She had either been thinking of something prior to his entrance, or he looked worse than he'd thought.

Subconsciously, he crossed his arms, leaning against the frame of the arch leading into the living room. He nodded his chin to her, eyes squinted with slight concern. "Are you okay?"

Allison was quick to relax her face, nodding quickly. "Yeah, I'm perfectly fine." she looked down, placing her hands onto the soft cushion of the couch beneath her.

Scott paused, closing his eyes as he focused for a moment on her heart beat.

The slight skip of her pulse, crashed into his ear drum, and his eyes flashed open. She had yet to even notice what he'd done, her eyes still locked on her bouncing knees. "You're lying.." Scott's eyes did not leave her as he spoke.

Her knees suddenly stopped bouncing, her head twisting in his direction so quickly he was surprised she didn't get whiplash. "What?"

"You're lying. You're not 'perfectly fine', I can hear your heart beat.." He eyes her carefully, looking at her up and down and secretly sniffing the air to catch sense of what she was feeling. Panic was definitely there. Along with confusion, sadness, anger...fear.

Allison folded her lips inward, tears filling her eyes.

Scott was quick to react, pushing himself off of the arch frame and walking over to kneel before her. "Allison, what is it?" he placed a comforting hand on her wrist.

She didn't move her hand, but she did fidget under his touch, letting out a struggled breath. "I probably look like a complete idiot, here I am crying like a little child. It's pathetic, it's—"

"You're not pathetic," Scott spoke angrily, feeling defensive towards Allison, even when she wasn't willing to be defensive towards herself. "Allison you're one of the strongest people I know, but you have to tell me what's going on..."

Allison's cries has quieted then, only becoming muffled sounds as she tried to swallow back down her tears. "...I'm sorry." she ran her fingers through her hair, eventually letting her hand slide over her face lazily. Her makeup was smeared, but Scott still sought her to be beautiful.

"Don't apologize for having emotions." Scott shook his head, squeezing her knee comfortingly.

"I don't know where that came from, really. I'm usually better at keeping it inside." She began to ramble again, wiping underneath her eyes desperately. Hoping to wipe away the moment of vulnerability she'd shown Scott, as well.

Scott saw this as his cue to stand, sitting on the arm rest of the love seat across from her. "Again, you don't need to explain. Trust me, I get it." He raised his hand briefly, and then let it rest back on his thigh.

He watched as she tried to re-compose herself. Searching for that strong front she was so good at placing on. Tonight, she was struggling. It was as if she was wearing a cloak that was too big, and therefore it kept sliding off at unexpected times. she looked scared of herself. Afraid to feel whatever it was she was trying her best to avoid feeling. And in that moment all he wanted to do was walk over and hug her.

"... I think tea sounds like a better idea, how about you?" he asked, stopping her in her attempts to get back to normal.

"Oh, uhm," she sniffled quietly. "Sure." Her hands were frozen in their place as she was midway through clearing her face of the smeared makeup.

"Alright, I'll just go make it." He knew she probably wanted the time alone. She probably needed the time alone for whatever reason. He'd decided from the moment she'd begun to cry that he wouldn't press it. However, he still felt the itching beneath his skin of wanting to know what she had yet to tell him. Clearly whatever she'd come to tell him was affecting her. Which meant it was personal. Scott didn't handle personal things.

He wasn't Derek Hale, but he was an Alpha. With that newfound role, came the protective instinct. The mere thought that someone from his pack was in danger was enough to make his claws begin to rip through his nail beds. He was aware that Stiles was in danger already. But, something told him Allison wasn't just upset over Stiles. It had to be something else entirely. Maybe a bunch of things all wrapped up in one, he just didn't know.

He pulled out two mugs from the cabinets, and set them on the counter as the water began to boil on the stove behind him. Then, resting his palms on the island he allowed himself to slip into a deep thought. Something that had become an everyday thing. He had never been good at solving things on his own. That had always been Stiles' job. Now he was lost. Simply lost. With Allison, of all people. He never thought there'd be a day when he struggled to figure out, what was going on with—

"I think the water is done." Scott jumped out of his thoughts, his ears catching the screeching sound of the kettle on the stove.

"Awe, Fu—" he didn't even allow himself to finish before he was reaching over, towel wrapped around his hand, to grab the kettle and turn the stove off.

The screeching slowly fell quiet, and he pressed his free knuckle against his left ear drum.

"Remind me, to never do that again. A wolf's ears are sensitive enough as it is." he felt his jaw click as he opened his mouth to wince.

Allison hid her quiet laugh behind her palm as she walked into the kitchen. Reaching the island, she slid onto one of the bar stools and rested her elbows on the smooth granite top. The smeared make up was no more, and she looked almost free of all makeup aside from the light stain from her lipstick that rested faintly on her lips. Scott tried hard not to focus on that detail of her.

"I'm hoping you're feeling better?" He carefully placed two tea bags in each of their mugs, before pouring the hot water in one after the other.

Allison watched as his tongue stuck out a bit in his concentration and she couldn't help but smile. "We could say that, yes." she followed the steam that drifted from the cups. "I couldn't tell you where that came from if we're being honest. I'm a bit embarrassed." she rested her chin on her hand.

"Don't be. It's called mental break downs. And if we're being honest, I'm surprised all of us haven't had them sooner." He set the kettle down and slid her cup towards her across the counter. "With everything going on, constantly—careful it's hot!" he was quick to stop her as she began to lift the steaming cup to her lips.

Allison smirked, before blowing onto the contents. Scott relaxed, cheeks growing red at his stupidity.

"Right." he nodded to himself. "You see? I've become a paranoid, overprotective over a hot cup of tea, lunatic."

Allison felt the numbness grow in her lips as she placed her mouth to the cup and took a sip. "Mm, you're not so much of a lunatic. That is really hot."

Scott laughed then. It wasn't loud, or full. It was tired and weak, but it seemed to be enough for Allison to release whatever tension was built in her shoulders. The mug made a light clink as it met with the counter top below, and Allison sucked in a nervous breath. Scott could feel she was about to speak, so he rubbed one of his eyes, and focused.

"I heard my dad, talking on the phone." Allison traced her finger around the edge of the mug.

"Who was he talking to?" Scott's eyebrows knit together.

"I'm not sure. Judging from what I could hear from the other end, it was a woman, and he was far from agreeing with whatever she had to say." her hair fell off of her shoulder and she rubbed at her now bare neck. "He was talking about me."

"You?" Scott hadn't expected that. "What about you? And what about you would he not be in agreement with?"

Allison sucked in as much air as she could through her parted lips, before shaking her head. "I'm not sure of that either. He just kept saying 'No. she's different. It won't be like last time'.." Allison met Scott's eyes. "I heard her laughing. As if my father was stupid for even thinking that things would be different this time." she spoke through her teeth.

"Did you ask your dad about it?" Scott found himself leaning further across the table. As if the closer he got to her, the more information he could soak in. "I mean, did he say anything?"

"Nope." Allison picked up her cup once more, the glass feeling much cooler. "He lied straight to my face about it. It's like we were right back to square one." Allison took another sip, then a gulp.

Scott realized he hadn't even touched his tea, and was quick to follow her lead. His mouth suddenly feeling dry. "Why would he lie to you?"

"Whatever the woman had said, must not have been good. Considering the fact it has something to do with his past, that's not too surprising." she began to play with the tea bag string between her long fingers. "I don't know, something isn't right."

Scott lowered the cup from his lips slowly. "Allison, I," He thought about his words carefully. "I get, your concern. I mean, you've had enough family secrets to last a lifetime but why does this have you so worked up? I mean, anger, I completely understand. But you had me thinking you were going into a full on panic attack back there."

He realized how he must of sounded. It was almost as if he didn't value her problems as legit reasons to have a mental breakdown on his couch. But apart of him couldn't help but ask. Allison had dealt with family secrets before. And never has she let those interfere or cause her to stray away from pack problems. Stiles was possessed and yet she was taking time away from figuring out a plan to save him, to discuss family problems?

Allison looked wounded by his words, and although he knew he had been honest whilst asking, he regretted his phrasing. He was never good with words. Especially when it came to Allison.

"I'm sorry, that came out wrong." Scott sighed, standing up straight.

"No. You're right. I was just being paranoid. It's probably something stupid." She waved a hand, nonchalantly. "So what, my dad lied to me for the first time since my mom died." Tears were beginning to cloud her vision. "So what, my father promised he would never lie to me again, and yet broke that promise last night. So what, he's the only family I have left and I can't even trust him." With each phrase she grew more hysterical. "So what, one of my best friends is lying in a hospital bed with horrific burns, while another is possessed and sitting in a mental institution. So what, I'm failing all my classes and trying to help save some of the only people I love. So what, my mother died two months after my aunt, and my grandfather turned out to be a psychotic bastard who tried to kill all of my friends. So, fucking what!" she let out a sob and Scott felt the guilt wash over him.

Allison hadn't just been crying over her dad lying to her. That had just been the reason to set her off. The fly that broke the camels back. She was finally letting go of everything that she'd kept inside over the past 3 years. She was cracking. And earlier, it had been hard seeing her cry on his couch. But it was even harder when he finally understood why. Allison Argent was no longer as strong as she had fought so hard to be. Her facade was running away with each tear that rolled down her flushed cheeks. Scott was witnessing Allison lose her mind. And this time, he wasn't going to hold back. He wasn't going to leave her be.

So, he rushed around the counter, and pulled her into his arms. The warmth of her tears instantly seeping through the fabric of his shirt. She let him. She let him hold her. She let him take on the weight of her world. She let him catch her. She let him protect her from the harsh events around them. And for the few minutes that it lasted, both of them had felt content. Because this wasn't romantic. This was simply two people, who loved and cared for each other, being there. Which was all what having their makeshift pack was about.

Allison dug her face into his shoulder, and Scott squeezed his arms more tightly around him, resting his chin atop her head. "Allison, we will figure all of this out." He rubbed her back with the palm of his hand soothingly. "We always have a plan B," he quoted Stiles. "And maybe we can't fix the past, but we can shape the future." He looked back and forth around the room. "I'm not going to let anything bad happen, not to anyone."

Allison was breathing heavily now, the crying had blocked all air ways for the time it had occurred.

"We'll save Stiles, and we'll figure out what's going on with your dad, and we'll just.. We'll get through this." He pulled back slightly, forcing her to look up at him. "I promise." his eyes bore into her own. He wanted her to know, he wasn't lying. "Okay?"

Allison's eyes looked all over his face, her eyes glossy with tears. She knew she could trust him. If there was anyone that she could trust, it was Scott. After all they'd been through. "Okay."

Scott smiled and then pressed his lips to her forehead. It had been something they had grown accustomed to over the years. It was the first time he'd felt comfortable doing it since they'd broken up. And he couldn't think of a better time.

Allison lips curled into a smile at the old gesture, and when the warmth of his lips left her skin, she was happy to know that they had grown that confidence back in their friendship. That they could do comforting things, without them being anything other than platonic.

Scott's thumb brushed against her cheeks, wiping whatever was left of her tears and then smirked. "If Lydia was here she'd be appalled at the amount of makeup you've wasted tonight."

"Oh god, let's not mention that to her." she gasped. "she has enough problems to deal with."

Scott threw his head back, releasing her fully, and then grabbing a napkin. "Yeah, so do you. You gotta love the after math of crying." He tapped his nose, and then threw the napkin at her.

"Jesus." Allison's eyes grew wide with embarrassment before she began to blow into the napkin and clean her nose. Scott took the time to finish what was left in his mug. "Thanks."

"Mm," Scott swished the tea in his mouth around and then swallowed. "Don't worry about it. I've seen worse."

"You have not." Allison squinted.

"I live with Issac. Trust me." Scott placed the cup in the sink. "Besides, if that's not enough, you drool in your sleep. That's a pretty sight."

Allison glared at him. "Oh, shut up."

"No, really. It's like a puddle." Scott made a disgusted face, and it wasn't long before a dish towel was thrown in his direction. He caught it effortlessly, and looked towards a prideful Allison.

"Watch it McCall. Next, it'll be the kettle." Allison stood off her stool, walking over and placing her own cup in the sink.

"Fair enough." Scott tossed the dish towel back onto the counter, and then rested his back against the sink. Allison settled next to him.

The dim lighting in the kitchen gave a cozy feel, and they both found comfort in the silence for the first time that night.

"Thank you." Allison looked up at him. "For always being willing to listen. Even when I'm just being over dramatic, and I'm too focused on my pride to ask for a hand."

"Don't worry about it." Scott looked to her.

"You've really got this Alpha thing down." she nudged him.

"I wouldn't say that." Scott cleared his throat. "If I did, Stiles wouldn't be in a mental hospital right now, and Issac would be awake."

Allison pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hey," she turned to stand in front of him. "This could not have been stopped. Okay? None of us knew about Stiles. Not even Stiles! And Issac would never blame you for what happened."

"Yeah but I should have saw something. I mean Stiles is my best friend. And he kept trying to tell me there was something wrong, but I didn't even listen." Scott could find a list of reasons to blame himself. "And I should have warned Issac about the power lines,"

"Scott!" Allison gripped his shoulders. "This is not your fault. You're doing the best you can."

Scott stopped speaking, looking at her. Then, he shook his head slightly. "What if that's not enough?"

Allison didn't have a quick response to that. But she didn't need one, for their moment was broken by the sound of a doorbell.

Both their heads turned quickly in the direction. Scott eyed the clock. 5:00am. When did that happen? He could hear birds begin to chirp outside and he saw the growing hue of light blue begin to seep through the kitchen blinds. Morning was creeping upon them.

"I'll get that." Scott walked out of Allison's arms, heading towards the front door.

Allison could hear from where she stood in the kitchen, Scott's moms voice ring through the house.

"I forgot my house keys. I'm sorry I woke you." Melissa McCall spoke hastily, "Where did you get that shirt?" Allison trailed into the living room, just as Scott began to stutter out an excuse.

"Hi, Mrs. McCall." Allison called out.

Melissa took her attention off Scott, and her frown quickly turned to a smile. "Allison! Hello, I would of thought you would be a home right now. When did you get here?"

"We, actually haven't slept yet.." Scott informed. "She's been here since 2."

Melissa didn't hide her surprise. "Oh my god, does your father know you're here?"

"Yes. I told him." Allison clasped her hands behind her back.

"Well, you two need rest. Scott, I told you that you could stay home, I expect you to take care of yourself." Melissa turned to him.

"I am, mom." Scott rolled his eyes.

Melissa looked disappointed. "Good. Well, I have to head back to work."

"I thought you had the night shift?" Scott looked confused.

"It looks as though that's being prolonged. After the work on the hospital the other night, we're gonna need all the hands we can get. Call me if anything comes up. The sheriff should be here around 12." she grabbed her keys out of the bowl on the coffee table.

"Will do." Scott cracked his knuckles.

"Allison, it's always nice seeing you." Melissa rushed over, giving the girl a brief hug.

Allison didn't have much time to respond, so instead she gave a muffled laugh.

"I love you." Melissa turned, brushing her lips across her sons cheek.

"Love you too." he called over his shoulder as she hurried by.

"Sleep! Remember, separate bedrooms!" And then she was gone.

Scott found himself yawning as if on cue.

"I guess she has a point." Allison licked her lips lazily.

"Agreed." Scott spoke through his yawn, and then slouched as he relaxed.

"Sleep?" Allison asked.

"Sleep." Scott nodded.

**6 hours later**

Scott was sprawled across the bed, mouth hung open and snores escaping through his nostrils.

It was the deepest sleep he'd gotten in over a month and if he were awake he would be thankful his mom had told him to get some rest when she had. Because, man was this nice.

However, nothing good ever stays. Especially not with Scott McCall.

He was rudely awakened by someone roughly shaking him.

He groaned, trying to hide underneath Issac's pillow. But that's when he heard Allison's voice, seeming further away due to the pillow covering his ears.

He poked his head out from the pillow, squinting up at her with tired eyes. "What, What is it?"

"The sheriff if here." There was worry strewn across Allison's features, and Scott propped himself up on his elbow.

Allison stepped to the side to reveal a distraught sheriff shuffling into the room.

"Stiles, he's.." his voice cracked as the words escaped his mouth.

Scott couldn't handle the anticipation. "He's what!?" he pulled at the bed sheets beneath him.

The sheriff looked up. "He's gone."

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I do not own "Teen Wolf", nor do I profit in this story other than the satisfaction of becoming a better writer. I do not claim to own any of these pre-written characters. All belong to the creator Jeff Davis and various copyright holders!

**A/N: **Hello, beautiful people! I am so sorry this took forever to update! Obviously with the finale of Teen Wolf, I got a bit thrown off, and quite frankly, uninspired to write anything including Allison Argent, because of how upset I was. I had to rethink a lot about this story, and where I wanted it to go. So, things have changed in terms of my plans, therefore I had to figure out some things before updating. But I am back! And ready to write for you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I love writing the vulnerable side of Allison just because I feel they focus so much on making her _tough_ that they forget she's a human teenage girl. Thank you to those who reviewed last time! I hope to see some more this time around! Love you guys and I will see you again soon! x


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